


By Commission

by Arithanas



Series: Love Demands Sacrifices [16]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Bribery, Domestic affair, travel preparations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>September 1637, Porthos was getting ready to return home, but not without gaining some peace of mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Commission

_Never mind your happiness;  
do your duty._ _  
_ _~Peter Drucker_

Porthos smiled at the sight, he couldn't help it even if he tried.

The old-fashioned room put a frame to the nightly scene. Athos seated by the fire on his favorite chair; Raoul on his knee, sharing a book about hunting dogs, and to cap the décor, the puppy asleep by their feet. It was as domestic as it gets and seeing his morose friend caring for a boy in such fashion was both a delight and a wonder.

"Does your dog seem like this one?" Athos asked, his cheek absently caressing Raoul's hair. "How did you call the beast again?"

"Rou," Raoul giggled and rest his head on Athos' chest. "His muzzle is shorter…"

" _Its_ muzzle"

"And its legs are chubby," Raoul complied pointing at something in the page, "but Rou looks like that drawing."

"Well, it seems Rou is some kind of Braque, but we must check this book again when it gets bigger."

"Would you help me?"

"You know I would. Now, put Rou on his crate and wish Porthos good night. It's getting late."

Raoul climbed down Athos' knee and went to Porthos; the puppy meandered behind his steps, following those little boots as if they were part of his pack. Porthos waited until Raoul got near to pick him up. The boy laughed and volunteered a big kiss with his best wishes for a good night; it was no wonder Athos got so physical with the boy.

"Sleep well if you can, Porthos."

"Same to you," Porthos said and put the boy down.

As Athos recovered his health he became stern with Raoul's discipline, which was firm but fair. Raoul, knowing his bedtime might be enforced, kissed his puppy and put it in a deep crate filled with straw and an old blanket.

"Good night, Rou," Raoul said, crouched at the side of the crate, "tomorrow we'll play a little more."

Athos just tapped on Raoul's shoulder to draw his attention to the stairs. With a sigh, Raoul put the lid on the top of the crate and marched on to the stairs; Athos followed him, to herd reluctant boy to bed was the perfect ruse to hide his slow pace. Porthos mused how long Athos would travel to conceal his weaknesses; good thing for him, his strength was returning at a steady rhythm.

Porthos stretched his legs, enjoying the fire and the relative silence, the only thing that broke it were the constant whimpering of the puppy. Gloomy thought crossed Porthos' mind and a bit of company wouldn't hurt. He rose from his chair and took off the lid; the puppy sprang to the light and barked a joyful greeting.

"Make less noise," Porthos hushed it and took it in his big hand, "the house is sleeping."

Upon his return to the warm place, while the puppy nipped his fingers, Porthos started to sort his to do list. Mousqueton was packing their valises, the letter warning his wife of his return was wrote and on top of the table in the room where he dwelt since his arrival. In truth, he was supposed to be on the road a week ago, but heavy spirits came to him every time he thought of leaving this charming Bragelonne and their inhabitants; the reason was not apparent: Raoul was happy now that Athos was on his feet; and the count was satisfied once all his domestic trifles were back in his hands to be done and undone at his whim. Yet, there was a distinct unrest inside Porthos, mainly when Athos delved into one of his deep and brooding silences. Athos always had the health of a titan, his mind always worried Porthos because Athos' barn door was hanging by a rusty gland stud, sort of speak.

While he was figuring how to approach the difficult subject with someone as skittish as his host Porthos noticed the lean form that started to fix up the place, from the door to the heart, picking up a jug left behind, closing a book, fluffing the cushions; in sum, caring for the little details of Athos' daily life. Of course it could only be the silent Grimaud, because it seemed to be his reason to exist. That brought to his mind another subject in his agenda; one of the tasty tidbits of domestic gossip Mousqueton was so fond of sharing. Why Grimaud wanted to leave? He always was the factotum, the diluted gray eminence behind Athos' powerful presence. Athos needed him to be Athos.

"Idling away the hours, are you?" Porthos asked as he didn't care for the answer. The truth was he was assaying every one of his expression, because Grimaud speaks with his body the same way other people speak with their mouth.

Grimaud glanced sideways at him, squared his shoulders and continued with his task, disdaining the question. There was something like pride in his stance.

"There is less work now the master is around, I suppose," Porthos said and scratched the puppy's ears, waiting for an answer. The answer was a little pause where Grimaud let his head hang as if abstracted in the idea. It was perplexing when the idea brought a sad sight. "It is good to receive clear orders for someone who doesn't change his heart every heartbeat, isn't it?"

There was a small shake on Grimaud's shoulders. Porthos has seen it before the times Grimaud tried to cover his laughter.

"I don't need you," Porthos continued, "to know my friend drank his share and more because I came, and therefore I discovered his dirty, little secret," there was a small pause when Porthos took notice of Grimaud's reaction: a stiff back and a complete stillness, "It is a delightful secret, I must admit, but you know how particular the Count is about the honor of his house."

That made Grimaud stood still. His loyalty was showing and Porthos took advantage of it, he rose from that comfortable chair and approached Grimaud with the puppy in his hand.

"I heard you are planning on leaving Bragelonne, and I understand you completely, by God!" Porthos put his big hand on Grimaud's lanky shoulder. "Athos is intransigent, morose, hidebound, prone to sulking and rancorous when he's thwarted, and those are his best qualities when he's sober, I dread to know what your master is to you when he's feeling no pain."

Not a syllable left Grimaud's lips when he made a sudden move to remove Porthos' hand. There was a silence between for some moments before Grimaud returned to his chores, as if Porthos were speaking to himself.

"It is way beyond my ken what you and Athos had lived together," Porthos said, a deep sorrow in his eyes, "but I know that without your presence, my friend would be lost, or at least left to his own devices. You and I know that those devices are defective, if not missing altogether."

Grimaud dusted one cushion with more force than was necessary.

"He would never take care of himself and you know it as well as I do," Porthos insisted in the mildest tones he could muster. "I want you here to care for him."

There was no answer as Grimaud went to the other side of the room to retrieve an empty bottle that Porthos left behind in a table.

"But if you want to go, I can't stop you."

Porthos put the pup in his crate and put the lid on it before a yelp could be heard. Grimaud minded him not and was in the way out when Porthos called his name to stop him.

"If you are to take your leave, here is a little something to help you."

In his way out, passing behind Grimaud's silent presence, Porthos left his heavy purse in a table by the door.

...

Later that week, the whole house was full of activity under the careful eye of Grimaud who had his hands full with waiting on Raoul. The child was trying to sabotage the imminent departure of his new friend with the best of his abilities to the extent some items were packed thrice that morning and, despite Grimaud's watchful pair of eyes, a couple of shirts and a huge boot were found hidden around the house months later.

Mousqueton was busy sharing his master's appreciation in form of silver coins for everyone in the servant quarters. It was a good fortune that he remembered every face or else his master's purse would be too light for the travel ahead.

Athos, meanwhile, took Porthos to a walk around the propriety, as if to prove to his friend that the crisis had left no lasting damage. Porthos laugh could be heard from the house in several occasions, they were making the most of that early morning.

Mousqueton and Grimaud found each other in the parlor while pursuing their respective tasks. They could not give a more dissimilar image; Grimaud was calm and composed while Mousqueton was half deranged with keeping an eye in all the travel preparations. In normal circumstances, a short nod was all they need before returning to their functions, but these were hardly normal circumstances.

"Grimaud!" Mousqueton called and took his college by the arm.

Grimaud mumbled a surprised word before giving his friend his undivided attention.

"My master's told me his purse is gathering dust, thought I don't know what he means."

There was a scoff full of derision.

"What is it?"

"Take it," the laconic answer was served with a mysterious and self-assured smile, "I'm not going anywhere."

"And what does it means?"

"Ask him," it was all that Grimaud said before recovering his arm and returning to his labors.

Mousqueton remained dumbfounded for some heartbeats, but then disregarded all as nonsense, there was a lot of work at hand.

...

After a light meal, the horses were brought to the courtyard. Tight hugs and promises of letters were exchanged between two friends as the servants were securing the valises. Raoul clutched both Porthos legs and begged him not to go.

"I'll return soon, Raoul," Porthos picked him up and tried to comfort him. "In the mean time you have to teach Rou a lot of things. I expect to see a well behaved dog when I visit you again."

"I'll miss you!" Raoul promised and got his arms around Porthos' neck.

"And I'll miss you too, but I have a wife waiting for me at home. A gentleman mustn't get a lady waiting."

"I suppose..."

"There, take care of the Count for me and write me often."

"I promise to, Porthos!"

Porthos laughed at Athos appalled expression; that chummy disposition in front of the service displease his noble bearings considerably.

"Here is your boy, M. de la Fère," Porthos said, trying to be as formal as Athos could wish, "With my gratitude for the excellent accommodation you provided. It was amusing!"

"It was our pleasure, M. du Vallon," Athos replied, taking Raoul from his friend's arms. "Please, have a safe trip."

"I'll do my best," the promise was made as Porthos got into the saddle. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

From above horse, Porthos made a fluid movement from his waist towards the group of people gathered to see him off; further towards a person at the right hand of Athos. Grimaud, who was the person to whom the motion was directed, was taken by surprise and just managed to bring his hand to his face and swat away whatever was thrown to his way. The heavy bag fell to the feet of Grimaud with a dull thud and a small cloud of dust, Athos threw a quick glance to the object and a more confused look to Porthos, one look that Porthos disregarded completely.

"Every soldier needs a pay, Grimaud!"

And with those words, Porthos started his way out of Bragelonne; Raoul followed him until the gate with Rou yapping happily in trail. As Bragelonne inhabitants returned to their work Athos cast a heavy glance on his most trusted servant.

Grimaud just shrugged, before reaching down to pick the bag and handing it to his master with his most candid look.

Athos just shook his head and turned around to get inside the mansion.


End file.
